His Belated Love for the Abandoned Ex-Wife Chapter 209: Don't Leave

"I'll help you."

Iris said it after a steady breath, like she had to settle something inside herself before the words could come out.

Julian gave a faint smile, the kind that softened his already weakened expression. "Okay. Thanks."

He shifted back against the bed, bracing himself before slowly lying down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants as he began to pull them down without hesitation.

The motion caught Iris completely off guard. Heat rushed to her face as she grabbed the basin and turned quickly toward the bathroom, using the excuse to change the water just to buy herself a moment.

When she stepped back out, she froze.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-cut briefs.

His body was lean and well-defined, not exaggerated but undeniably strong, every line clean and controlled, the kind of physique that came from discipline rather than show. It hit her all at once, and she had nowhere to put her eyes.

Her face burned.

She set the basin down quickly and pulled the blanket up over him, her movements brisk, almost defensive. "Cover up. You'll get cold."

Julian turned his head slightly, watching her with quiet amusement despite the fatigue in his eyes. "You know, when you got drunk before, I cleaned you up too. Changed your clothes and everything. Didn't think you'd be the one doing it for me someday."

That only made it worse.

Iris pressed her lips together, her cheeks flushing deeper as she wrung out the warm towel and started at his calf, carefully wiping upward. The higher she went, the more deliberate her movements became, her gaze drifting anywhere but where she was working.

Julian studied her for a moment, the faintest smile touching his lips. "We've slept together more than once, and you're still this shy?"

Her heartbeat kicked up instantly, heat spreading across her face as she kept her head down, pretending composure she didn't feel. "I'm not shy."

"Then go ahead," he said, his tone light, almost teasing. "Finish the rest."

"Julian." She finally looked up, flustered, her voice tightening. "Don't push it."

"I'm sick," he replied, his eyes softening, his tone slipping into something unexpectedly gentle, almost coaxing. "Go easy on me."

He's not even arguing, he's coaxing. Like he knows I won't say no.

"I've already done enough," she said, trying to steady herself. "I got your meds, made you food, and now I'm helping you clean up. Don't take advantage."

Julian didn't respond right away. He just looked at her, something quieter settling into his expression before he asked, almost casually, "Then why did you come?"

The question landed heavier than anything else.

Iris stilled.

Why did I come?

She had been the one to draw the line, to cut things off cleanly, to make it clear there was nothing left between them. She hadn't even wanted to stay friends.

And yet the moment she thought something might have happened to him, none of that mattered.

She didn't think.

She just came.

The answer was there, clear and undeniable, but she refused to look at it too closely.

Her chest tightened.

The distance she had worked so hard to build felt like it was collapsing under a single question.

She set the towel down on the nightstand, avoiding his gaze. "Take your medication every four hours," she said quietly. "I should go."

She shifted, one foot already off the bed.

Julian moved faster than she expected.

He pushed himself upright and pulled her back against him, his arms locking around her waist, his strength surprising for someone who had been running a fever all night. His face pressed against her, his voice unsteady in a way she had never heard before.

"I won't ask anymore," he said, almost under his breath, the words rushed and uneven. "Just don't go. Please."

The suddenness of it made her freeze.

She could feel the heat of him through her clothes, his body still burning, his breathing heavier than it should've been, like he was holding something back.

She should have pulled away.

She didn't.

Her voice softened without permission. "I'm not leaving," she murmured. "I'll stay."

Julian tightened his hold just slightly, closing his eyes as he drew in a slow breath, as if anchoring himself to her presence.

The room grew quiet after that.

At some point, he fell asleep.

Iris remained sitting at the edge of the bed, her thoughts heavy as she watched him. Even in sleep, the strain hadn't left his face, and his hand still held onto hers, loose but unwilling to let go.

She checked the time.

1:00 a.m.

When she looked up again, her eyes settled on Julian's sleeping face, pale and worn even in rest, and a heaviness pressed down on her chest, thick and suffocating, as if the air in the room itself had turned still.

Carefully, she eased her hand out of his, making sure not to wake him, then stood and quietly cleaned up the room, taking the empty bowl and glass into the kitchen and washing everything before grabbing her bag and heading out.

She took the stairs down one floor, stopping in front of the apartment they had once shared for two years.

For a moment, she just stood there before knocking.

No answer.

After a brief hesitation, she entered the old passcode.

The lock clicked open.

As the door swung inward, her chest tightened.

Everything inside was exactly the way it used to be, spotless, orderly, untouched, like time had been rewound to before the divorce, as if nothing had ever happened.

So Julian had already removed her parents and Ethan from the apartment completely.

The realization settled quietly but heavily.

She didn't step inside.

She didn't want to revisit any of it, and she knew she didn't have the strength to face what that space meant anymore.

She pulled the door closed again and walked away without looking back.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains as Julian slowly opened his eyes. He let out a long breath, lifting a hand to rub his temple before pushing himself upright, his body still aching, a dull headache lingering.

"You're awake, Mr. Everhart," Owen said, standing up from the couch the moment he saw him move.

Julian frowned slightly, his voice low with fatigue. "How did you get in?"

"You weren't answering your phone yesterday," Owen replied quickly. "I got worried and asked Ms. Whitlow for the passcode."

Julian pulled back the blanket, about to get out of bed, then paused when he noticed he was only wearing briefs. His brows drew together. "You changed me?"

Owen shook his head immediately. "No, I got here around six this morning. I made breakfast."

A faint, knowing smile tugged at Julian's lips as he let out a quiet breath, his voice dropping under it. "So it wasn't a dream."

Owen blinked, confused. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing," Julian said, already swinging his legs off the bed. "Wait in the living room."

Owen nodded and stepped out without another word.